The Audacity of a Three Piece Suit
by MidnightGlows
Summary: In his fifth year of Hogwarts, Harry trains in the muggle world with Mycroft Holmes. He helps Mycroft deal with criminals and learns how to manage a war and a society. Just when Mycroft is about to release him of his training, the magical war with Voldemort and the muggle war with Moriarty mix, leaving Mycroft and Harry to fix the pieces breaking around them.
1. Chapter 1

A knock at the door seized all chatter around the kitchen table of Grimmauld Place. Remus looks around confused. Everyone's already here, and the Order was expecting no one else. The rest of the occupants look as confused as Remus, with the exception of Albus. Albus and his damn twinkly eyes. The white bearded man stands up, and states, "I shall get the door, shan't I?"

Albus leaves the room with a bounce in his step and without another look at the people residing around the table. Remus looks at Sirius, who is sitting right next to him, and shrugs noncommittally. Whispers start around the table when Albus does not immediately come back to the meeting, and while Sirius joins right into conversation with Tonks, Remus does not. The two separate smells from the next room should have startled him, but both were calm, so he remains so also, trusting Albus to take care of it.

That's why, a few minutes later, when Albus came back in with a tall, rather intimidating man dressed in a three piece muggle suit, the majority of the room is surprised, but Remus is not. The room quickly quiets. Remus takes the few moments of silence to observe the man.

The suit is obviously of a pricier make than the average muggle wore. His hair is short and deep brown, along with his eyes. He's a little heavier around the middle, but not so much as to call him fat or unattractive. The man gives them all a small, emotionless smile. Remus shudders.

"This is Mycroft Holmes. He will be joining us for a few minutes while Harry finishes up," Albus says. This has Remus confused. Why is Holmes waiting for Harry? Molly Weasley voices his concerns. And, well, probably everyone else's as well.

"Harry? What has Harry have to do with any of this, Albus? The kids should be upstairs talking with each other and getting ready for dinner." Her face heats up red a bit as she talks more, and Remus does not envy Albus one bit.

Albus says nothing, but does sit down in his original chair while Holmes moves toward the wall and stands there, seemingly disinterested, leaning his one hand onto his black umbrella. Minerva groans next to Albus, and Remus cracks a smile at her, agreeing with the sentiment.

Albus then begins the meeting asking Severus for any new intel he has gotten from Voldemort, and Severus goes on a long spiel of information he has both gained and given. Remus does not listen to any of it, knowing it is not pertinent to his assignment. Instead, he studies the man standing near the wall, wondering what he wants with Harry, and why Albus refuses to tell them all.

When Remus suddenly doesn't register any words entering his ear, he zones back in and realizes footsteps were banging down the steps. _That has to be Harry._

Harry appears quite suddenly, and it's all Remus can do not to gasp in surprise. It's clear no one else has the same mannerisms from the number of gasps from around the room. Harry looks impressive in his three piece muggle suit (like Holmes). His hair has been styled back with a gel, but is not caked in it. Harry's glasses have vanished, so his bright green eyes shine brightly giving him an intimidating yet sophisticated look.

"Mycroft." Harry's voice is warm and inviting. "Sorry I'm late; I was helping Hermione with something."

"Not a problem, Harry. I was early after all." Mycroft stands up completely straight now and walks toward Harry. They clasp hands and exchange polite smiles. It seems like an uncomfortable affair, but Remus could tell they were very familiar with each other. "Shall we go?"

"Of course," Harry says looking at Mycroft. He then turns to the Order and says, "Sorry for interrupting." His voice is sincere, but his face expressionless. Across the table, Remus catches Severus's sneer and rolls his eyes. That man will never get over his hatred of the Potters.

Harry and Holmes turn to head toward the door when Molly suddenly finds her voice again to call out, "Wait a minute, young man! Where do you think you're going, and with this man no less?!"

Remus sighs and throws his head into his hands. _Why couldn't they just finish the meeting?_ It wasn't to say Remus isn't concerned over what Harry is doing, it's that the two seemed to know each other already, and Albus definitely knows what they are doing. Otherwise he would not let them out of his sight. Why couldn't the others (Molly) understand that?

"Mrs. Weasley, I'm sorry, but I can't tell you. Professor Dumbledore knows, and that is the best I can do right now."

With that, they left. Molly was left with her mouth hanging open like a fish. Minerva and Remus locked eyes and shared a quiet snicker at the matron's expense.

"The audacity of that boy!" Mrs. Weasley finally exclaims. "Albus, what is the meaning of this?"

Remus straightens up as he awaits Albus' answer. He glances around the room to see every head turned toward Albus in communal curiosity and anger. Albus pauses for a moment, so quick Remus can barely comprehend it in time, before he says, "Harry is doing…training of a sort. I don't believe I can say any more than that. The information can be given in a need-to-know basis, in which, I'm sorry to say, none of you are eligible."

"So, precious little Potter gets special privileges now?" Remus looks over to the source of the vicious muttering. Severus' black eyes narrow and shimmer darkly. Remus opens his mouth to retort, but Tonks beats him to the punch.

"Do you want He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to die? Because it's not going to happen at the rate this is going. Harry needs to train a little harder than the average Hogwarts student if that's going to happen. Or maybe you don't want that to happen, like the Death Eater you are?" Tonks sneers at the potion's professor. Remus' eyebrows shoot up in surprise. It wasn't like Tonks for her to speak that way—to anyone. Perhaps Severus had gotten on one too many of her nerves.

Remus sees Sirius smirking next to him. He shoves his elbow into the man's side when he blows out a low whistle at Tonks' rebuttal.

"Sirius, not the time."

"You're no fun, Remi. It's getting to the good part!" the overgrown mutt pouts, his lower lip sticking out. Remus rolls his eyes and tunes back into the conversation around him.

"—for one think this is a good idea," Remus hears Kingsley say to the general Order. Remus grins at him in silent support.

It says silent for a few moments after Kingsley's appraisal until Albus once again makes himself known by saying, "It is a nonnegotiable matter, and we shan't discuss it any longer. Otherwise, I believe this meeting to be over. We shall reconvene next week, yes?" Albus asks. "Good," he says without receiving an answer from anyone. With that, Albus sweeps out of the room leaving Remus and the Order staring mindlessly after him and listening to the echoes of his footsteps fade.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Harry glances over at Mycroft. The man's umbrella stays loyally by his side, and Harry has to wonder if it's anything like Hagrid's. He sure hopes not, because Mycroft, Harry knows, is a muggle. A very powerful muggle with a lot of wizarding connections, but a muggle none-the-less. But then, Harry wonders, if he does have such powerful connections, could it be charmed to cast certain spells so a muggle _could_ use it? That would have to mean Mycroft has connections to, most likely, the Department of Mysteries, and Harry doesn't believe his connections went that far. Perhaps he had gotten it by means that were not _quite_ legal. Harry grimaces at the thought.

"Ask."

"What?" Harry's head shoots up, as he looks at Mycroft in wild confusion. Had Harry been talking out loud?

"You have a question. Ask it," Mycroft states, his eyes still looking forward as they continue to walk down the street and away from Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry pulls at his shirt sleeve. Is he that obvious that Mycroft could tell without even looking at him? If he can tell that, Mycroft must be able to tell that Harry knows next to nothing about anything. Which was hardly a surprise from anyone who actually knows and talks to Harry on a frequent basis, but Harry has only met Mycroft once before now.

Harry's thoughts stop in their track when he suddenly realizes no one is walking beside him. "Uhm, Mycroft…? Mr. Holmes?"

"Harry," Mycroft's voice calls out from behind him. Harry turns around expecting an angry glare from the older man, but he surprisingly only receives a tight smile and a hidden look of…amusement in Mycroft's eyes. Harry's mouth lays slightly agape as he notices an arm sweeping in gesture to get in the black car that Harry just now realizes is there. Hesitantly, he walks toward the car for a few paces before coming to a mental halt. Shaking himself, Harry pulls his shoulders back and walks with conviction, as if he has done nothing wrong and needs everyone to know it, to the awaiting heated leather seats.

Harry slides in and Mycroft shuts the door for him. Fifteen seconds later the door on the other side of the car opens, and Mycroft slides in next to him. The car starts moving, and it's silent for a few moments before Mycroft says, "Harry, meet Anthea. She is my assistant."

He catches Harry's eye and points her out in the passenger seat of the car. Her phone… Blackberry, if Harry can tell correctly, is lit up, and her fingers move a mile a minute. Harry's eyebrows crunch with confusion on how someone can possibly text that quickly.

"There is a reason why she is _my_ assistant. She's good at what she does," Mycroft noticed his staring.

"I can see that."

"Yes… I suppose you can. Now. As this is our first day together, we will be doing a few things. First, we will be going over rules and expectations. Then, I will be introducing you to a few people with whom we will work closely with for the next few weeks to get you ready for the real preparation of war. And the war itself, of course," Mycroft tells him, smiling seemingly without a care in the world.

"Of course," Harry responds sarcastically. Mycroft made it seem like everything they were doing was the simplest thing in the world, and they needed not pay much attention to it.

"I'm glad you agree," Mycroft exclaims mildly. Harry snorts, because this conversation is ridiculous. Anyone could see that it is just the two dancing around each other, trying to gauge the other person's personality and reactions. And, of course, not wanting to talk about the elephant in the room. Silence laps again, but this time it is more of a comfortable silence. Harry is finally able to relax and lean back against the seat. The tension is gone from his shoulders, and there's a small smile on his face. Harry turns to regard Mycroft.

"What if I hadn't?"

"Agreed?"

"Yes."

"Well," Mycroft ponders, his fingertips tapping the handle of his umbrella. Harry's eyes follow before going back up to the man's face. "I would imagine that you know the answer to that. Do you not?"

"No, I do," Harry tells him regretfully. He doesn't really want to know, but within his heart Harry knows he does but just doesn't want to admit it. Harry bites his lip and stares thoughtfully at the seat in front of him.

"Don't bite your lip. It's in bad taste, nor does it keep you looking confident and professional," Mycroft says, and he immediately stops.

Harry is silent for the rest of the ride.

When the car finally stops, after two long hours, Harry is relieved to get out of the car. His face lights up with joy as his feet stand on firm ground once again. Harry had never been in a car for that long, and he wasn't sure he'd be getting used to it anytime soon. He sticks his hands in his pockets and walks over to Mycroft who is looking at the building they stopped in front of with disguised apprehension and maybe a little disgust.

Mycroft looks over at Harry and takes a deep breath. He gestures Harry to the door—a black, old fashioned thing with 221 bolted on it in brass. Harry knocks on the door. Mycroft hurriedly goes to stop him, causing Harry to jump in surprise.

"No, don't knock, you'll bother—" Mycroft exclaims, but the door is already opening. "Mrs. Hudson," he finishes lamely. Mrs. Hudson's face seems astonished but not bothered.

"Mycroft, dear, what a surprise! And who is this young man?" she tones out, and in a lower voice, she asks, "Is he your boyfriend?"

Both Mycroft and Harry's eyes pop open at her words. "N-no, Mrs. Hudson. I'm fifteen!"

"Oh, no worries, dear. Mycroft here is only thirty. There is no reason why you couldn't be together. _My_ husband and I were twelve years apart, and we had met when I was seventeen."

"Mrs. Hudson—Mrs. Hudson, that's illegal!" Harry cries earnestly.

"Is it?" she asks, looking at Harry with an innocent expression on her face. "Well, no one has to know, do they?" she winks. "Do come in! Would you like some tea?" Mrs. Hudson pulls the door wider and steps back to allow more space for them to go through.

Harry is about to open his mouth to reply, when he suddenly hears Mycroft's voice say, "No, thank you, Mrs. Hudson. Harry and I would like to talk alone upstairs while we wait for Sherlock and John to return."

"Of course, no problem, dears. You just go on up," she smiles at them.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Mycroft sidesteps Harry and walks all the way up the stairs before Harry even begins to follow. Before he can get very far, a feminine hand grips his wrist.

"He's a keeper that Mycroft is. What did you say your name was again?"

Harry turns his head to look at her intently, but with a kind smile on his face. "I'll keep that in mind, thanks, Mrs. Hudson. And my name is Harry."

"Just Harry?" she questions kindheartedly.

Harry has a quick debate in his head on whether or not to say his last name to people. He believes he shouldn't, so he answers, "Just Harry."

"Well, 'just Harry', go on up. Don't keep him waiting. He's very impatient," Mrs. Hudson tuts at Harry with a knowing grin.

"Of course not. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." She releases her grip on his wrist. Harry turns back around and heads up the stairs and through the door. Immediately upon entering, Harry spots Mycroft sprawled across an old living room chair, acting as if he owned the place.

The corner of his mouth quirks up into a smirk, and he stares at Mycroft. "A bit presumptuous of you, isn't it?"

"Of course not." Harry doesn't ignore that fact he offers no further explanation. Then again, Mycroft is practically the British Government, so he probably has his reasons, Harry figures. "Sit."

Harry sits. "I feel as if, while we are waiting, we should talk about rules and expectations. Do you agree?"

"I do. Where do we start?"

"Let's start with our relationship with each other. We are not equals. You are subordinate to me, right now. This can and probably will change over the course of your training. Over time, I will begin to let you start making your own decisions about certain problems. If I see you understand how to go about certain situations rationally, I will let certain people go to you in lieu of me. My goal is to help you learn how to manage a war and a society. So that will happen here with my guidance. Soon we will split the part of 'the British Government.' Do you understand?" Mycroft states calmly and without blinking. It freaks Harry out a bit, not that he'd ever admit it.

"I understand what you said, but I don't understand why. Why do I have to learn to win a war and lead a society into success? I'm only fifteen. Shouldn't someone, I don't know, older do it? Like Dumbledore?" Harry's age suddenly becomes apparent in his naivety and anxiety of events to come. His hands twitch nervously, but he refrains from playing with his clothing or biting his lip.

Mycroft smiles at Harry with a small amount of empathy. He pauses before he finally speaks. "Harry," he says, "think about your government right now. Your Minister, Cornelius Fudge, just gave you a trial for defending yourself. Against a soul-sucking beast that wasn't supposed to be in your town to begin with, no less. Harry, your Ministry is in denial about Voldemort being back, and because your Ministry doesn't believe it, the people won't believe it either until a) the Ministry comes to their senses and believes you, or b) they see proof for themselves. Your society is corrupt.

"Furthermore, you are one of the biggest figureheads in the war right now, whether you like it or not. When the people come to their senses, you will have a very large voice within your society. And you will continue to have a large say in it, even when Ministers come and go."

"So?" Harry interrupts, a slight disgruntled. Mycroft smiles tightly and goes on as if Harry had never interrupted.

"Because of this, you already will be respected. You may not always be on the front lines of your government, but every decision that will ever be made will eventually go through you before they become official. That's why you have to learn how to lead a society. You need to learn how to win a war because you one of the main figureheads. People are counting on you already, and they will listen to you, Harry. You're a natural leader. From what I've heard, you're plans are awful, but your on-the-spot plans are very good. You know how to survive. You know how to keep a cool head in unplanned fights, how to have the least number of casualties on your side, but most importantly, you're not afraid to get done what needs to be done."

Harry sits on this for a moment as Mycroft stares intently at Harry. Harry heaves a deep sigh. Maybe the man is right? Harry doesn't know. It seems like, to him, that everyone always treats him as if he is a small child, incapable of understand the slightest hardship of war. But Harry had battled Voldemort by himself last year and lived! Cedric had become a casualty, but it was unplanned and so sudden that Harry hadn't been able to do anything. Thinking of Cedric makes Harry feel wretched, but he quickly covers it up.

"So why can't Dumbledore do this? He is all of those things, too," he asks suddenly, staring directly into Mycroft's eyes without looking away.

Mycroft frowns faintly, and his frown lines become more prominent "I think…I'll let you find that one out for yourself. I believe it will do you some good. It needs to be you, Harry, which is why you're here."

Harry only jerks his head sharply, running a hand through his hair in response. "Okay, what else?"

Mycroft lets Harry know that he will need him often, if he wants to gain anything of experience. By often, Mycroft means at least five days a week, starting at seven in the morning and returning at approximately eleven at night. Sometimes, he will not return for days, nor sometimes will he sleep for days at a time. Little to no information is to be given out among his people, including his best friends. The same as Dumbledore, the information he will give out is on a need-to-know basis.

"And Harry?" Mycroft asks softly.

"Yes?" Harry answers tiredly.

"Try your best to separate this from your social life. 'Hang out' with your friends and family. Date. Do well in school when you do go back. Just because you need to do this, doesn't mean you need to become it."

At these words, Harry smiles hesitantly at Mycroft. He had been worried about that. Harry had been worried he'd have to ignore his friends and family and the Order. He wants to be some semblance of a normal teenager.

"I will. Thanks, Mycroft."

"Here." Mycroft reaches across to Harry and hands him a black mobile. "For when you or I need to contact each other or when others need to contact you."

Harry is about to refuse the mobile, but rationally the mobile makes sense, so Harry just grins widely at the British Government and thanks him enthusiastically.

"I think this is about to be the start of a beautiful friendship," Harry winks teasingly at Mycroft, he counts it as a win when the man snorts in amusement, making Harry grin slightly wider.

"Mycroft having friends? Well, that's hardly possible."


	3. Chapter 3

**Well, damn, guys. I've gotten so many favorites and follows and reviews! You guys are awesome, and I'm so glad you're enjoying this so far! Let me know your thoughts on things, anything and everything is appreciated :) And sorry for the delay. School's been a bitch lately. I'll try to get the next update out quicker. -MG**

* * *

 **Chapter 3**

Mycroft's lip curled in distaste, before he sighed lightly to himself, which Harry found disturbing.

"Sherlock, welcome home."

"Hmm… I wouldn't say 'welcome,'" Sherlock stated, glancing at Mycroft disdainfully. The man, Sherlock, Harry figured, turned his back and made his way toward the kitchen. His hands quickly began to fiddle with something that had being laying on the island counter. "And you are?"

There was a pregnant pause when Harry realized the man was talking to him! He chewed on the inside of his cheek before taking a glance at Mycroft and answering: "I call myself Harry, sir."

"One of your name confused assistants then, Mycroft? You're becoming lazier and lazier by the day," Sherlock's voice bit back as soon as Harry finished his last word. His tone was even and calm, but cruel nonetheless. It honestly reminded Harry of Snape.

"Sherlock!" came a new voice that had Harry turning. "Mycroft is your brother, and Harry is a new guest in our home, you will _be nice._ " A short, sandy blonde haired man came crashing into the room. Harry immediately felt at ease, but his gut told him to be careful- _this man is dangerous_.

"Or what?" Sherlock countered, a nasty sneer on his face.

"Or I will make sure you do not get a case for a month. I mean it, Sherlock!"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Mycroft's soft tone interrupted. "I'm sure we could all come to an…agreement. Sit." Sherlock sat angrily, while John also sat looking exasperatedly at Sherlock. "This is Harry, and you will refer to him as such. I'm taking him under my political wing for an undetermined amount of time as a favor to a _friend._ You will, in turn, begin teaching him about what you do, Sherlock. This is not optional, national security requires it. I'm sure you understand. John, I have hope that you will keep Sherlock on track with what I am asking him. Harry will be here at 6:00 p.m. tomorrow. I will return at, oh, say 9:00 p.m. to retrieve him. Good day, gentlemen."

Mycroft existed the room dramatically, leaving three men staring at his back. His awe suppressed for the moment, Harry turned back to Sherlock and the other man, John, as Mycroft had said earlier. His cheeks flushed bright red as he stammered, "Well, I guess that's my cue…" Harry rushed out the door and down the steps as fast as he could in the three piece suit he donned. It really was uncomfortable, as well as the gel in his hair. He hoped he doesn't have to appear like this all the time. Now, the contacts, he could get used to, Harry smirked internally.

Harry hopped into the backseat of the car next to Mycroft, who Harry knew was waiting impatiently, even if he didn't seem it. Mycroft didn't say anything to Harry when he sat down, and Harry was glad for it. He was too embarrassed to even form words. Harry checked the time in the front of the car and was surprised at what he saw. It was already 8:00! Harry wondered what Mycroft would have him do for the last hour before they went on the two hour journey home.

They rode in the car for another fifteen before it slowed to a stop. Harry looked out the window for a moment, then said: "Er… I thought these lessons were supposed to be out of the general public and lower government's eye? I would have figured the police were, uhm not to sound conceited or anything, but I would have figured they were in that category."

Harry became disgruntled when he turned back around and saw the smirk on Mycroft's face.

"Quite correct, Harry. I'm glad I don't need to explain that to you. However, a single man works at New Scotland Yard by the name of Gregory Lestrade. He is who we are to speak to…" Mycroft trailed off, his eyes slightly glazed over. Harry tilted his head slightly at him. _Was that a blush on his cheeks?_ Before he could comment on it, Mycroft was already up and out of the car. Harry hurried to follow. They walked stiffly into the Yard, and Harry cringed at the curious yet recognizing looks thrown their way.

The elevator ride was made in silence, which Harry didn't mind in the least. Finally they walked onto a floor with a few people on it who took a glance at them and went on with their business. It was like they were used to Mycroft being there or people popping in on their floor in general. But Mycroft didn't pay them any mind, heading straight for a door in the back of the large, yet cramped room.

Mycroft, Harry was beginning to realize the man simply did not believe in privacy and permission, did not even knock, but opened the door and immediately sat down in one of the two arm chairs for the visiting side of the desk. In the boss's chair was a man probably in his late thirties, early forties, with salt and pepper hair. Gregory, at least Harry assumed this was Gregory Lestrade, was turned backwards and talking avidly on the phone.

"No, I simply do not have the men to spare and send down south. I have a city to run here, you know? Homicide isn't quite the easiest thing to keep people on board with…" Gregory gesticulated wildly. Harry heard muffled talking on the other end of the phone. "No, I have enough men. I'm just damn lucky they're all willing to be sociable and come in on their days off when I need them. They're the only ones I have…They're good to me, you know? A pain in the arse sometimes, but good to me nonetheless."

Gregory finally turned back around, catching sight of Harry and Mycroft. He heaved a sigh into the phone. "Look I gotta let you go. I have company. I'm sorry I can't transfer any of my men…. Yeah I'll talk to you later, Don. Thanks, bye."

Gregory hung up the phone, and rubbed his face with his hands. It was silent for a moment, no one daring to break it. Harry, becoming uncomfortable, asked, "Long day?"

Gregory's eyes moved to Harry from their resting spot on his hands. The man gave Harry a quick upturn of his lips. "Yeah, you could say that." His eyes shifted to Mycroft. "Mycroft. How can I help you today?"

"Gregory meet Harry. Harry meet Gregory Lestrade." Gregory stood up and held out his hand to Harry. Harry stood up and offered his as well.

"Pleasure to meet you, mate. Call me Greg. Lord knows I've told Mycroft to but he continues to call me Gregory!" Greg threw up his hands and shook his head in fond exasperation.

"Likewise," Harry responded with an easy grin. He'd be able to get along with this man well, he could see it now.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

Harry looked at Mycroft, and when the older man gestured, he responded, "Mycroft is teaching me some things as a favor to a friend. How you fit into this, I have no idea."

"I was hoping that you would be willing to take him along to some crime scenes and teach him how to fill out different types of official paperwork," Mycroft took over for Harry. Harry noticed how Mycroft didn't demand Greg teach him anything, unlike Sherlock and John. He tilted his head slightly in thought.

"Mycroft, you have to be kidding me! He can't look more than seventeen maybe eighteen. Do you want the kid to be traumatized by murders this early in life?" Greg exclaimed angrily to Mycroft. The man breathed out a heavy sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

"Fifteen, actually. You'll do it then?"

"No, Mycroft."

"If I may interrupt," Harry hesitantly spoke, and both of the men turned to look at him. "Greg, I know that you don't want to do this because I'm young and 'innocent.' But the fact is that I'm not. My parents were murdered when I was a year old. I watched as a classmate of mine was murdered before my eyes at the end of the last school year. I'm not going to be scared or traumatized by whatever you have to show me."

Greg stared at him with his mouth hanging open slightly as he tongued his teeth. "Alright, alright, yeah, fine." There was a pregnant pause. "Are you really fifteen?"

Harry chuckled and the tension dissolved into a fit of ease. "I am."

Mycroft smiled tightly like he was concerned at their friendliness for one another. "You will treat him as an adult however. A learning adult, but an adult no less. You can have him from nine in the morning to around six in the evening when he will be with Sherlock and John."

Harry frowned and narrowed his eyes at Mycroft. He wasn't a dog that he could just hand off to people like he didn't have feelings.

"On days where I do not need him, at least." _Well,_ Harry thought, _at least he doesn't want to completely pawn me off._

"And where can I find you?" Greg directed this at Harry instead of Mycroft.

"I'll send you an address. We must be going," Mycroft answered in place of Harry. Harry's fingers twitched.

"Alright, well. Good chat. See you soon, I guess, Harry." Harry smiled at Greg. The man seemed so lost and tired.

"Night, Greg," Harry reciprocated. Mycroft didn't move, but continue looking at Greg. Harry took the hint and quietly left Greg's office. He came back out into the now sparsely populated floor and leaned against a desk. The cool metal corner bit into his side, but Harry ignored it as he fidgeted with his suit. His eyes flickered to the door that held Mycroft and Greg behind it. What was taking them so long? Suddenly the door opened and Mycroft stepped through, black umbrella in hand, calling behind him, "Go home; it's late. What you're doing now can wait until tomorrow."

Harry raised an eyebrow at Mycroft that the man did not see. He didn't say anything as he followed the man out to the waiting car in the front of the building. The silence continued into the first forty-five minutes of the two hours car ride, but was interrupted when Harry said with a slight grin on his face:

"You like him."


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Harry at least had the decency to look ashamed after he blurted the question out. _You like him, don't you?_ Good Merlin, Harry was such an idiot. He mentally face palmed. One did not say that to a man you just met, especially when you didn't know his sexuality.

Oh, well, Harry figured. He may as well role with it now that the damage was done. After all, Mycroft's cheeks were tinted red so that had to mean something right? Maybe?

"Of course not," Mycroft said, his scathing tone causing Harry to flinch. "He is just one of the…more tolerable of Sherlock's friends. We get along well."

"Right. Erm, sorry," Harry said as his fingers twitched anxiously and an awkward silence descended upon the car. "Where is Anthea?"

Harry had to give Mycroft credit. The man's face didn't even twitch as the question tumbled out of Harry's mouth. The answer remained monotone and vague as well. "My office."

Harry's mouth tightened, and he let out a huff of irritation. "Look," he said, "I'm sorry. Hermione always tells me I should think before I speak, but the fact remains that I don't. I shouldn't have said what I did, and I know that. But I have enough people act hateful toward me without you turning on me as well."

Harry immediately thought what he said was a mistake when Mycroft didn't reply for another ten minutes. Though, he watched the older man tap his index finger on his umbrella in a contemplating manner. The finger was slim and perfectly manicured. Harry couldn't look away.

"Perhaps not," Mycroft's upper lip turned up slightly. Harry's body tensed when Mycroft spoke. " _But the fact remains_."

It was silent again. Harry's mind was churning up a storm anyway. He didn't miss the fact that Mycroft was mocking him. How could he? The perfect sneer, the perfect emotionless expression, the perfect blank eyes. All Harry could think of was Snape. And that was quite unfortunate since Harry hated Snape, and Harry wanted to like Mycroft.

All Harry could do for the moment was rub his eyes. The feeling of not wearing glasses caused Harry to smile. He never did know why he didn't do it before, get contacts that is. Quidditch would be much easier this year, he realized suddenly. His heart leapt gleefully out of his chest and right to his fingers, which now tittered with movement.

"Would you _sit still?"_

Harry's good mood shattered with that scathing question. Choosing not to reply verbally, Harry showed he heard the man by stilling his fingers. He groaned to himself and wondered how much longer this car ride would be. Could he go by floo tomorrow? Learn to _apparite_? _Apparus_? Apparate! Yes, that was it. Anything would be better than enduring another two hours in a small space with a man that obviously did not care for Harry. Unconsciously, Harry's fingers began to fidget again as anxiety rolled through his veins.

Which was why Harry was more than startled when a large, warm hand engulfed his. Harry's heart beat wildly in his chest, and he jumped in surprise. "Merlin, you almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Not quite."

"Not quite what?" Harry asked stupidly.

"Merlin." Mycroft's lips upturned slightly, and Harry could see that the man was no longer upset with him. Thank Merlin, Harry thought with an internal sigh of relief.

Physically, Harry rolled his eyes and blew a puff of air from his nose. "That joke is so old."

"Sue me." Mycroft's face came to an impasse, feigning disinterest. Oh, but Harry knew better. Harry could see the little twinkle of amusement that shined in the corner of Mycroft's eyes. Much like Dumbledore's actually, now that Harry thought about it, just at a significantly lower level.

"Oh, if I could find probable cause to, I would," Harry snarked back.

"Hm… yes. I wish you the best of luck with that."

"Oh, thank you, really. You are just too kind."

"I really do try. I will have to put that into my box of accomplishments. Sherlock will be proud, dare I say."

Wondering if Mycroft was being serious, Harry dropped the sarcastic tone he had been using to banter with Mycroft.

"Would he really be proud?" Harry asked, his tone wary. Harry watched as Mycroft opened his mouth to reply before closing it once again. After a few seconds silence, Mycroft opened his mouth once again.

"No. Probably not." Mycroft finally stated. Harry's eyes widened impossibly. How could Sherlock not be proud of his brother? Isn't that what siblings did? Harry voiced his thoughts.

"Believe it or not, not everyone has a perfect relationship with their relatives," Mycroft sneered in response, nose upturned. Suddenly, Harry's temper flew through the roof.

"Why does everyone assume that I've been pampered my entire life?" Harry exclaimed, his voice low with a biting tone to it. "Just because I'm the 'Boy-Who-Lived' or whatever," Harry rolled his eyes exasperatedly, "doesn't mean I'm God's gift to earth. I don't have everything handed to me on a silver platter!"

"Because by all means you should have!" Mycroft's eyes flashed dangerously. "But," Mycroft stated in a much calmer manner with such a suddenness that made Harry's head spin, "you didn't."

"No," Harry added cooly.

"No," Mycroft murmured in agreement. "Which, I suppose, is… beneficial in this case. Caring is not an advantage."

Harry stared at Mycroft with wide eyes, all previous anger dissipated. Because of this, Harry didn't realize the car had suddenly pulled on to Grimmauld Place. "Pardon?"

"Caring is not an advantage."

Harry gazed at Mycroft for a good ten seconds wondering just what the man was on. Not coming to a sincere conclusion to what drugs Mycroft was on, Harry simply just said, "No."

"No?" Mycroft replied as he were slightly amused.

"No." Harry peered around Mycroft momentarily just to realize they were at Grimmauld Place. Harry smirked, a plan quickly forming in his head. "What plans do you have for the rest of the night?"

Mycroft's stormy grey eyes bored into Harry's. "I don't."

"Lovely. You're coming inside with me where I will feed you, and we will finish this discussion."

Mycroft continued to stare at Harry until he gave a short nod about thirty seconds later. "Alright. You have an hour to…convince me."

Harry flashed him a quick grin before opening the car door and stepping out. Harry watched as Mycroft did the same a minute later, probably pausing to speak with the driver, while brushing off his impeccable suit and palming his umbrella.

"Now," Harry started as they clambered toward Twelve Grimmauld Place's door, "explain this 'caring is not an advantage' thing you're going on about."

Mycroft replied swiftly, "There have been plenty of times that Sherlock has been used against me. If I do not care about Sherlock, he cannot be used against me." Harry walked up the steps to the front door. "Caring about someone only hinders and distracts from your mission and only causes problems all around. Caring never was, nor ever will be, advantageous."

Harry turned to nob of the front door, and his words echoed loudly throughout the front entrance way.

"Bull-fucking-shit."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 _"_ _Bull-fucking-shit!"_

—

Harry did not find that walking into a house and being introduced to a screaming portrait of an old hag was the best way to help a man feel included. No, perhaps not, but it is what happened in Mycroft's case. Harry, he knew, probably should feel guilty for cursing so loudly he woke Walburga up, but Harry couldn't find it in himself to care.

"FILTHY HALF-BREED! SON OF A MUDBLOOD, GET OUT! GET OUT!"

"Oh, put a sock in it, woman…" Harry murmured as he took a step forward, gesturing Mycroft to follow behind him.

"YOU DARE BRING A MUGGLE INTO THE ANCESTRAL HOUSE OF BLACK?"

Harry ignored her and continued forward in his venture to find the kitchen of the cursed house.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Lovely woman."

Harry snorted into his hand when he heard Mycroft's offhand comment muttered, most likely to himself.

"Yeah, that's one way to describe her," Harry agreed. Mycroft's lips twitched a bit, but no further reaction was seen from the forbidding man. Finally into the kitchen, Harry gestured Mycroft to take a seat at the table. Harry watched as Mycroft's nose upturned in distaste, so subtly Harry barely even saw it. Though, Harry did understand his rationality. The table, long and narrow to fit in the dark room, was dusty and rigid along the edges. It looked as if it hadn't been cleaned for years, which Harry doubted was true because Mrs. Weasley had everyone cleaning for the entire break so far. But, the stains and dustiness on the light wood hardly looked appealing even if it was cleaned.

Harry grimaced but didn't say anything as Mycroft finally sat down.

"Tea? Coffee?"

"Tea will be fine, thank you."

Harry left the dining area and into the actual kitchen. Reaching down into a cabinet, Harry pulled out the cleaned kettle and filled it with water. He placed it on the stove, and he walked back into the dining area and sat across from Mycroft, who still looked far from impressed . The two men sat in silence for several moments, the quietness reverberating against the walls.

"When I was eleven years old, my best friend almost died," Harry began softly. The shrill sound of the kettle interrupted what Harry was going to say next, but he got up and collected the tea anyway. Mycroft gave the younger man a gracious smile as Harry set a cup down in front of him.

Not quite ready to continue with his story, Harry wandered back into the kitchen prepared to make some food. Mycroft said nothing as Harry pulled out some chicken and broccoli and two baked potatoes. Setting the broccoli and baked potatoes to the side, Harry began to cut up the chicken. As he did so, Harry felt piercing eyes on his back, watching, learning his movements. It made the hair on his neck and arms stand up like a pin. Harry shivered under his gaze.

Swallowing deeply, Harry continued, "It was Halloween during my first year at Hogwarts. Hermione hadn't really become friends with Ron and I, yet. Actually, we were kind of mean to her—everyone was," Harry admitted, shame filling his voice. "She was a lot different back then compared to now. Not that that's an excuse or anything…"

Harry cleared his throat as he watched Mycroft still looking at him patiently.

"Anyway, Ron had said something rude to Hermione on Halloween, and later we learned she hadn't turned up for dinner because she was crying in the loo. Thinking nothing of it, Ron and I went back to our dinners. Then _fucking_ Quirrell burst into the Hall saying, quite dramatically, might I add, that there was a troll in the dungeons. So, of course, everyone was trying to rush out of the Hall and into their dorms when we realized that Hermione didn't know. She was in a bathroom near the dungeons, and therefore a target. So Ron and I went after her to warn her."

At this point, Harry set to cooking all of the food, finally done with the preparation. The chicken was put into the fire wood oven and the potatoes and broccoli cut up and in a skillet.

"When we got to the bathroom, the troll was already there—swinging, banging, wood flying everywhere, glass shattering. Between Ron and I, we managed to knock it out. I don't exactly remember how, but I distinctly remember Hermione huddled in the corner of the room, covered in debris from the stalls and sinks the troll destroyed. The troll was set on her. If we hadn't been there, she probably would've been seriously injured or killed…" Harry trailed off.

"Where were your professors during this?" Mycroft's deep voice startled Harry, who was staring into space, into jerking his head back to stare back at the man's inquisitive gaze.

Harry looked at him confused. "They were in the dungeons where Quirrell said the troll was."

"They restroom was not in the dungeons?"

"No?"

"Hmm…"

Giving Mycroft a bewildered look, Harry continued on, "So, if Ron and me didn't go to her because we _care,_ no matter how much we didn't like her at the time, she would've been in a very bad way."

"Very well. I can agree with that," Mycroft's head bobbed thoughtfully. "However, think about this: what if you had been seriously injured? You were only a boy with very little magical training. Why not let your professors handle the situation? After all, they were much more equipped to deal with the troll."

Harry let out an exasperated sigh. "They were already gone to the dungeons!"

"Then a seventh year? Anyone would've been better than two boys who only had two months of magical training," Mycroft replied calmly. Harry could tell he was becoming frustrated with the conversation as his palm gripped his umbrella so tight the man's knuckles turned white.

Nonetheless, Harry fired back, uncaring. "You don't understand! This was our fault! We had to fix it ourselves!"

"No, you do not understand!" Mycroft rebutted scathingly. "That decision could have not only cost you your life, but the life of another as well."

"AND WHAT ABOUT HERMIONE'S LIFE?!" Harry shouted back, his eyes flashing. His lungs heaved with breathlessness and anger, as Harry tried to gulp down air.

"What is going on down here?!"

Both Mycroft and Harry turned immediately to face the newcomer which happened to be Remus Lupin.

A pregnant pause stilled the air. Harry looked from Mycroft, who's face had regained its cold composure, to Remus.

"We were just having an insightful discussion, weren't we, Mycroft?"

"Of course," Mycroft's voice held a suave air of superiority, "we are sorry to have woken you. I give you my sincere apologies."

Remus did not look amused or convinced. His long dirty blond hair was a rats nest, and his colorful pajama pants and white t-shirt did not make the werewolf look very intimidating, though. Remus stared at both of them calculatingly anyway, but then turned on his foot and went back to the upper floor.

"Keep it down!" Remus hollered behind him.

When Harry could no longer hear the wolf's footsteps, he murmured sarcastically, "Sir, yes, sir!"

Silence regained the room as Mycroft and Harry once again began to stare at each other. They were interrupted by the shrill sound of a timer going off in the next room.

"That'll be dinner, I suppose."

 **Hey, guys! Sorry I suck at getting new chapters out in a timely manner, I'm just really busy right now. But I hope you liked the chapter (ik its terrible but shhhh)! I'm happy this story is being so well receipted, I didn't really expect that :) let me know what you think in the comments! Oh, also** ** _Follow me on snapchat at MidnightGlows and Tumblr at k-midnightglows-j and twitter midnightglows__**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Harry groaned as the alarm went off at six A.M. Mycroft had left around eleven thirty at night, and Harry was exhausted. By the time he had gotten to bed, it was just past midnight.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice floated through the doorway. Her head peaked through the open crack, and her sleep weary eyes glanced over him.

"Yeah, 'Mione?" Harry croaked back to her in question. Sighing, he threw the covers off of his body and stood up in just his boxers. He glanced unconcernedly back at Hermione. "Yeah?"

"How was yesterday with Mycroft? I mean, he's related to Sherlock Holmes, so I can't imagine the man's all that…pleasant," she whispered, stepping further into the room. Harry cracked a grin at her and ran a hand through his hair.

"No, he's kind of…brass, but I think you would like him. He's very straight forward—" Harry opened his closet and searched through the dress clothes. "—and likes to get right down to business."

He sighed and puttered through his wardrobe again.

"Here." Hermione's hand covered his own, holding a sky blue button up in place. "Wear this with black dress pants."

Harry let go of a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Thanks, 'Mione. You're the best."

"I know," she said, turning to sit on the bed. "You'll let me help you decorate your apartment when you get it, right?"

"Of course!" Harry exclaimed. "If Mycroft allows it, at least. Can you turn around? I want to put on new boxers."

Hermione did without complaint. "Okay, you can turn back now."

Harry pulled up his dress pants and let them hang open with the belt dangling at the front. Pulling on the button up, Harry buttoned them one by one until he was a slight opening at the base of this throat. His shirt was tucked in and his pants done up quickly after. "Good?"

"Good," Hermione agreed, and hopped off the bed. "Go, do what you need to do—do not get your socks dirty!—and I'll go make us breakfast."

"Yes, mum!" Harry grinned cheekily back at her and bound out of the room. He arrived in the bathroom a few doors down and quickly brushed his teeth and put on deodorant. He then slipped his contacts in and few back out the door and to the kitchen before stopping dead.

"Oatmeal and fruit? Really, 'Mione?" Harry groaned.

Hermione threw him an affronted look. "Yes, really, Harry. Now eat." She sat at the table in front of him and began to eat. Harry grumbled, but sat down too and began to nibble at the oatmeal.

Ten quiet minutes later, a knock sounded at the door. Hermione jerked up excitedly, "I'll get the door, you go get your shoes on!"

Harry rolled his eyes, but did as he was told. As he was walking back down the stairs, he heard Hermione and Mycroft's voices drift quietly through the hallway.

"—learning to apparate, shopping for clothes and his apartment, and acquainting himself with Miss Molly Hooper."

"Learning to apparate? Isn't that illegal for people our age?"

"Yes, but Harry has special clearance."

"By whom?"

"By me."

As silence resounded, Harry decided this was a good time to step in and let them know he was back. "Haven't you heard, Hermione? This man is practically the British government," he joked.

"Really? Well, nice to meet you, Mr. British Government. I'm Hermione Granger, the girl who is basically Harry's older sister and trying to make sure the idiot won't get arrested for underage apparation," Hermione said, eyes glaring daggers at Harry, who cringed under her gaze. "Especially because the idiot just had a hearing about underage magic."

"Yes, yes, alright, Hermione. Thank you," Harry recovered quickly, trying to get her to be silent. He glanced at Mycroft, but his face remained impassive. Hermione's gaze softened when Harry turned back to her. In an instant, she darted forward and wrapped her arms around Harry's neck in a tight hug. Immediately, his arms came up around her waist to reciprocate the hug.

"Be safe, Harry," she whispered into his neck. "Go have fun with Mycroft!" She unlooped her arms from around Harry and softly nudged him in the shoulder. Grinning widely, he took a step back and turned to face Mycroft.

"Well, let us go, then."

Mycroft held his eyes for a moment or two before holding his umbrella out in front of himself. "After you."

Harry raised an eyebrow, but went forward to the door. "Bye, 'Mione!" Harry called back behind him.

"Bye, Harry, Mr. Holmes," Hermione said back, just as Harry stepped out of Grimmauld Place.

The air was damp and thick with fog, the sky a deep charcoal. The trees rattled in the breeze down the way, the wind causing Harry to shiver slightly. A black Mercedes waited by the curb silently, and Harry started toward it. He opened the door just as Mycroft closed the door to Grimmauld Place. Harry relaxed slightly into the warm leather seats, and looked out of the window at the angry sky as Mycroft climbed into the car.

"Is it supposed to storm today?" Harry asked quietly, when Mycroft finally settled and the car began to move.

"It _would_ seem that way, yes." Harry just managed not to sigh in irritation. _Mycroft was certainly not very friendly today._ The rest of the trip to London was silent.

"Shopping first, then?" Harry asked warily as they stopped in front of a designer store that Harry had only ever dreamed of buying from.

Mycroft did not answer Harry but responded with a calculating look. "How many pieces of dress clothes do you own?"

"Uh, one suit, a pair of black trousers, a pair of khakis, two pairs of dark wash jeans, one polo, and two button downs?" Harry responded, his tongue sticking out slightly in thought. "And we're leaving—alright."

Harry hurried after Mycroft who strutted into the store, umbrella dutifully in hand, as if he owned the place. A bell above the door rang quietly, and a man in his, presumably, forties appeared behind the counter looking harrowed. His thinning, salt and pepper hair was everywhere, and the man had smile lines like no other.

"Mr. Holmes!" he exclaimed. "What can I do for you today?"

Mycroft smiled thinly. "Mr. Benson, a pleasure to see you again. I will be needing a full set today, I believe."

Mr. Benson grinned and nodded his head in agreement. "For you or for the young man standing next to you?"

"It will be for Harry, yes."

"Harry, my good lad! C'mon back!" Mr. Benson cried, gesticulating his apparent excitement. "Mr. Holmes, feel free to follow us back, if young Harry is okay with it, of course, or you may sit up front here."

Harry stepped forward to follow Mr. Benson to the back and heard Mycroft's soft footsteps fall behind him. The room Mr. Benson had led them to had four mirrors, one on each side of the wall with a few feet of sky blue wall in between them. A rack of different rolls of fabrics was on the left, and a closet filled with what had to be hundreds of different clothing articles was on the right. In the center of the room was a pedestal of a sort, of which laid a measuring tape.

Mr. Benson raced forward and snagged the measuring tape, and muttered, "Alright then, Harry, hop up on there."

Harry did as he was told, and Mr. Benson went right to measuring every part of his body imaginable, writing something down in a notebook every so often. During this, Harry stared awkwardly at Mycroft, who clearly had no sympathy whatsoever for him.

Minutes later, Mr. Benson was finally done. "A full set, correct?"

"Yes."

"And should I have them delivered or will you be back to pick them up?" Mr. Benson asked, his pen swirling furiously.

"Deliver them to this address," Mycroft said, sliding the man a slip of paper.

Mr. Benson accepted the paper and glanced it over. "Perfect. I'll say it delivered say…Well, its Friday today so…Monday by six P.M.?"

Mycroft nodded his acceptance. "Good day, Mr. Benson."

"Take care of yourselves, Mr. Holmes, Harry," Mr. Benson replied, sparing a glance at each of them.

"You as well, Mr. Benson. Thank you," Harry replied, grinning slightly in the man's direction, before turning and following Mycroft out of the store. "Ah, hell!" Harry cursed as he stepped out into the pouring rain, and began running to the car that was still parked on the curb.

Safely secured in the dry car, but soaking wet, Harry and Mycroft shivered in the warm air blasting from the vents. Soon the car was moving again.

"Mycroft," Harry said suddenly. "What is a full set?"

Without even turning to look at Harry, Mycroft replied, "Twelve pairs of dress trousers, five pairs of dark wash jeans, four pairs of sweatpants, fourteen pairs of boxer-briefs and socks, twenty-one button up shirts, seven undershirts, seven t-shirts, and seven three-piece suits."

Harry's jaw dropped before Mycroft even finished his sentence. "Holy shit! That must cost a fortune, Mycroft! That's too much!"

To his credit, Mycroft's expression did not even quiver an inch. "You'll need it all—trust me."

Harry just stared at him in astonishment. "You're unbelievable."

Mycroft stopped looking out of the window and turned toward Harry, eyebrows furrowing slightly. "Close your mouth, it's unbecoming." Harry's jaw snapped shut.

A few minutes later, the car slowed again and Mycroft rumbled, "We're here," and got out of the car. Harry hurried to follow, and immediately recognized the scene, even through the foggy rain.

"The Ministry?" Harry hissed quietly, falling in line with Mycroft. "What are we doing here?"

They entered the phone box in a tight squeeze. Mycroft punched in a long number before responding, "Your apparition license."

And then the floor dropped.

The reception area of the Ministry looked the same as it did a few weeks, Harry thought, unsurprised. The only different thing was there were more people today as it was eleven o'clock on a weekday.

Harry kept glued to Mycroft's side as the man flashed a badge at the receptionist without even stopping. But the receptionist must have recognized Mycroft as he didn't even flinch.

The elevator was filled with people, and Harry's muggle attire made him feel out of place, but no one seemed to pay them any mind. They were, regretfully, the last people on the elevator when Harry and Mycroft finally stepped out in one of the basement levels.

"What are we doing down—"

"Harry!"

* * *

 **Who is it? Leave some love in reviews guys :) -KJ**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

"Okay so what you're, uh, going to do first is really imagine the place where you want to be."

"You mean the place that is five feet away from me." Mr. Weasley gave Harry a hard look. "I'm just trying to make sure we're on the same page," Harry muttered, smiling innocently at the older man.

"Harry?"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?"

"I'm not even sure that we're in the same library."

"Good to know." Harry was sure he heard a snort from Mycroft in the corner of the room, but clearly this apparation lesson was getting to him because Mycroft would never do that.

"Okay, now imagine, Harry."

Harry finally did as he was told and began to imagine the alcove five feet away: the color of the bricks, the cracks, the smell.

"Now begin to feel your presence there, like your magic is pulling you to the alcove. Do you feel it?"

Harry nodded.

"Very good, indeed. Now let your magic take you. Do not resist your magic."

A strong pull nagged on Harry's consciousness and suddenly his body was being sucked through the smallest tube imaginable. All at once, the compression stopped and Harry felt whole again. And a little bit dizzy.

Okay, more than a little dizzy, Harry thought as he began to throw up his breakfast next to his spot on the floor. A slight, distant noise of clapping reached his ears, but he ignored it in favor of collapsing in a heap on the frozen stone floor.

A large, rough hand clapped Harry on the shoulder, and Harry let out a groan.

"There's a sport. Apparating is a bit unsettling on the body the first time, but it gets better every time! Not to worry!" Mr. Weasley reassured Harry with a wide, warm smile.

"That would've been great to know before I apparated for the first time," Harry snarked lightly, slowly getting back up to a standing position. Harry heaved a breath, and ran a hand through his hair. Bringing his hands around to rest on his knees, Harry felt his throat burning, and his tongue tingled with the after-taste of throwing up. Tears brimmed his eyes and leaked down his cheeks as Harry coughed one last time. Gradually straightening up, Harry spoke again, "Alright, I'm okay now. I'm fine."

Mr. Weasley waved his wand and the sick Harry made disappeared.

"Are you ready to try it again, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked, glancing up to briefly look Harry in the eyes.

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, and prepared himself for the squeezing sensation once again.

An hour later, Mr. Weasley deemed Harry prepared enough to obtain an apparating license. To Harry's distress, Mr. Weasley was surprised Harry hadn't ended up losing a limb, being so young. Harry had not even realized that was a possibility, let alone Mr. Weasley had _expected_ Harry to lose a limb.

Eventually, Mr. Weasley explained it to Harry as there was a fifty percent chance of losing a limb, splinching, for a student learning to apparate. But don't worry, Harry mocked sarcastically to himself, splinching was very common and easily fixable!

Like that made it any better, Harry thought to himself as Mycroft, Mr. Weasley, and him walked to a different section of the Ministry, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

Several long, lackluster hallways later, the trio stopped in front of a reception desk. The woman behind the desk grinned brightly at them.

"Hi, do you have an appointment?"

Mycroft stepped forward, "Not an appointment, per say, but Madame Bones is expecting us to appear sometime today. Would you kindly let her know we have arrived?"

"Certainly," she replied bubbly. "Can I have your names?"

"Arthur Weasley, Harry Potter, and Mycroft Holmes," Mycroft answered. The receptionist glanced at Mycroft with disbelief.

"Mycroft Holmes doesn't usually wander around the Ministry of Magic. He tends to stick to the muggle side of things. Can I have some identification please?"

Harry saw Mycroft's hand twitch, but the man merely gave the receptionist a compliant smile and took a wallet out of his suit jacket. Mycroft flipped the wallet open and allowed the receptionist to scrutinize it. Finally, the woman conceded with a nod of her head, her smile never disappearing.

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes."

"Likewise."

"Let me just go back and let Madame Bones know you're here."

The receptionist got up and went down yet another hallway. The three men stood in silence in her absence, until she came hurrying back and motioned to them with a wave of her hand. The three men followed her with a start. On the way there, Harry noticed they passed many official-looking people dressed in finely made robes, some who acknowledged Mr. Weasley with a tip of the head, a polite smile, and a wave. Soon they reached a wooden door marked AMELIA BONES.

"Well, this is where I leave you," the receptionist said with a frown. She turned around and began to walk away, but just as she was about to turn the corner, she looked back and glanced at them. "Good luck."

Disgruntled, Harry watched as Mr. Weasley tapped lightly on the door three times. Seconds later, a severe looking woman opened the door a greeted them with a brisk smile.

"Well, don't stand there all day," she said. "Come in."

The three filed in and sat down in the expensive looking chairs in front of Madam Bones' desk. A large cherry wood, if Harry had to guess, desk lay against the right wall and bent to face the door. Stacks of parchments, two picture frames, and loose quills lay scattered across the desktop. Harry had to commend the woman; her desk was both messy but organized at the same time. Harry, sitting between Mycroft and Mr. Weasley, turned to Mycroft and whispered, "Mycroft, who exactly _is_ this woman… and what are we here for?"

Mycroft's fingers tapped restlessly against the wooden handle of his umbrella, which made Harry mentally back up a second. Mycroft turned his head toward Harry and raised a thin eyebrow. Mr. Weasley chuckle softly at the exchange.

"My name is Amelia Bones, Mr. Potter. I believe you know my niece Susan?"

Harry jerked in surprise at the new voice joining the conversation. He turned to face the formidable woman. "Of course, I know Susan!" Harry exclaimed, looking Madam Bones dead in the eye. "What I meant was… well…what do you, er, do?"

Mycroft let out a brief huff, which almost sounded like another snort (but Harry had to be hearing things). "Such elegance."

"Yes, thank you for your invaluable input on my social skills, Mycroft. Now, if you would please?" Harry shot back instantly without thinking, a glare also thrown his way. Harry nudged his knee. Harry looked back to Madam Bones, who had a slight smirk playing on her lips.

"What I do, Mr. Potter, is head the DMLE. I control the aurors and any occurrences with the law in magical Britain. As you may remember, I was at your hearing this summer."

"Er, yes. I do happen to remember that," Harry fidgeted while avoiding Madam Bones' gaze.

"Good. Now what can I help you men with today?" She asked, glancing briefly at each of them.

"We need to remove the trace off of Harry's wand and register him with an apparation license," Mr. Weasley began, after it was clear Mycroft nor Harry were going to speak up.

"I'm afraid that's impossible," Madam Bones replied instantly with a hard gaze. "You of all people should know that Mr. Weasley."

Mr. Weasley, a red hue to his neck, opened his mouth to respond, but Mycroft beat him to it.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself, Madam," Mycroft said, extending his right hand. "Mycroft Holmes, security clearance QL8."

Madam Bones hesitated before shaking his hand, her lips a thin line. "I know who you are Mr. Holmes. May I have identification, please? Someone of your position can understand necessary precautions, yes?"

"Of course," Mycroft nodded agreeably. Once again, he reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a wallet and flipped it in Madam Bones' direction for her to inspect.

A few moments later, she nodded her head, apparently satisfied. "And what reasoning do you have behind your requests? Even with your clearance, I will not allow such allowances without good reason."

"I would expect nothing less, Madam," Mycroft said, a distant, refined smile donning his face.

"Madam Bones, do you believe Voldemort has returned?" Harry asked suddenly, his eyebrows raising briefly in surprise that he had even spoke up. A succinct silence entered the room. "Or do you think I'm a liar like everyone else?" Harry abruptly felt his veins ignite with bravery.

Madam Bones regarded Harry and his companions tentatively before answering slowly, "I believe I have not seen enough evidence to confidently say he has returned, but I also do not believe the death of Cedric Diggory and the impersonation of Alastor Moody to be coincidental. That being said, I believe there is merit to being prepared for the worst."

"Which brings us to the reasoning behind our requests, Madam," Mr. Weasley said. She looked at him in expectance. "With all due respect, we are preparing for the worst. Mr. Holmes here has graciously agreed to mentor Harry. Apparation is a given seeing as Harry's relatives live two hours away from London, where Mr. Holmes is based. This mentorship will continue throughout the school year as well, making it necessary for Harry to leave school on occasion, with the Headmaster's express approval, of course."

Madam Bones nodded her head thoughtfully. "I see your point, Mr. Weasley. Please continue."

"Actually, Madam, even I am not entirely sure about the next request. Mr. Holmes, this one is all you."

Mycroft inclined his head. "Understand, due to your security clearance, I cannot say much. However, I can say, what I will be doing with Mr. Potter is not purely on paper. I would like him to be prepared as possible in the event he needed to defend himself. I am under the impression he would not abuse such a privilege, would you?"

"Of course not!" Harry responded indignantly, his cheeks heating up at the thought of someone thinking so low of him. Madam Bones' eyes searched Harry's.

"Say I agree to this. There would be conditions."

"Of course," Mr. Weasley and Mycroft said at the same time.

"What would they be?" Harry asked curiously, a hand reaching up to run itself through his hair.

"Well, for one, I would not be able to keep this a secret. Such matters are made to be public record. What I can do is not deliberately announce it to the Prophet. Is that agreeable?" At the nod from all three men, she continued, "Second, I would require the occasion meeting with Mr. Potter to make sure we are all on the same page."

Out of the blue, a knock sounded on the door. "Madam Bones, your one thirty meeting is here and waiting."

Once the receptionist left, Mycroft continued, "Those conditions should be well met and manageable."

"I will have the paperwork done by the time I leave today at five. Mr. Potter, you cannot use magic until, let us say six o'clock tonight. Do you understand?"

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry pleasantly.

Quickly, the three men were ushered out the door, and eventually found their way into the main lobby of the Ministry.

Mr. Weasley, eyes bright, turned to Harry and Mycroft and sighed. "Unfortunately, I must get back to work, or I'll be missed. I'm glad I was able to help you out today, Harry." He reached a hand up and squeezed Harry's shoulder. Harry grinned back at him. "Be safe, whatever you're doing today."

"We will, Mr. Weasley!" Harry reached over and gave the man a brief but wholesome hug. Mr. Weasley shook Mycroft's hand and turned away in the opposite direction.

Watching him walk away, Harry asked Mycroft, "So what's next?"

"I believe we have a lunch reservation we're late for. I do hope Molly isn't too upset."

* * *

 **Alright, guys, it's time to start harassing me if I don't get a chapter out within two weeks. Anyway I hope you liked this! Sorry it's taking so long to get to all the action but i promise we'll get there eventually! :) reviews make me happy**


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